


Remorse is a memory awake

by middlemarch



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Paintball, Post-Canon, Romance, Vignette, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Once, this evening would have been unimaginable and it wasn't just because he'd eaten his full share of the dessert she'd brought: three pale pink macarons.
Relationships: Annie Edison & Abed Nadir, Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Remorse is a memory awake

“This is tea, Annie. Not Scotch. Most definitely not my single malt Oban,” Jeff said, holding the cut-glass tumbler loosely.

“Of course it’s not, you silly goose,” Annie said. She had her knees tucked up under her and she was wearing that fluffy lavender chenille bathrobe that should have made him think about the librarian at his grade school or a little girl. It did neither and he still wanted to feel it in his hands as he pushed it off her bare shoulders.

“You’re killing me.”

“I’m helping you. The way you asked me to,” Annie retorted.

“I regret that. I regret everything,” Jeff said. He took a slug of the cold tea. It wasn’t bad, a quality Lapsang souchong and no sugar, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“Do you really?” Anne snuggled down into the damn bathrobe and just looked at him. Jesus fucking Christ. It was his internal monologue, so he didn’t have to worry it was too Gentile.

“No. Not everything,” he said.

“Tell me one. One thing you regret,” she said. Her eyes were very blue and unlike anything else in the world. 

“The last paintball fight--” he began.

“At Frankie’s gala?” Annie interrupted.

“Yeah. At Frankie’s gala. I regret that I never danced with you,” Jeff said. She had spent the night in Abed’s arms, even during the battle, and it had cost something to see her held so gently, so confidently. She had been completely at ease, entirely lovely. 

“You might have asked,” she said softly. “You never asked.”

“I regret that too,” he said. He swirled the cool tea in the well of the glass in the moment before she took it from his hand and set it down. Then she was beside him, close enough to take in his arms. She raised an eyebrow and he took his cue. The bathrobe fell off her shoulders most obligingly.

“Silly goose,” she said against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
